My Litlle Sunflower
by LovedPsycho
Summary: If only he had never went on that plane, none of this would be happening. How can he make up his mind? If everything returns to normal, he hurts the one person that doesn't deserve it. If he changes everything, he may not get to see his friends and family for a very long time. What is he supposed to do? Maybe he can be given a good reason to stay, maybe he will be pushed away...


**This story is rated M for later chapters. This is only the first one, so bear with me. I know it's short, but this is the first story I have ever posted anywhere, and it's more or less a trial run. Yes, I do plan on posting more chapters no matter what any of you say because this is for my personal enjoyment. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's not a very difficult concept to understand. Of course, positive feedback and FRIENDLY and HELPFUL criticism is always appreciated. :P For those of you who want to say only bad things about my story with no intentions of helping me better it, I'm sorry you have nothing better to do, and I'm glad I could provide some sorry source of entertainment for you! ^J^ If anyone has any ideas, pairings, situations, etc. that they want to see happen, let me know and I will do my best to try and include it in a chapter somehow. **

America looked down at the frozen landscape under him. As much as he loved his country, he hated going to Russia in spy planes. Wasn't there ANYTHING better they had for him to do? He couldn't even fly the plane. All he did was sit totally bored in the cramped little seat behind the co-pilot. He sighed as thick, snow covered forests just went by. He began to drift off to sleep when the plane jerked violently and burst into flames.

"What the hell is going on?!" America yelled as he gripped his seat tight. When he looked, he saw that both the pilot and the co-pilot were dead. Whatever hit them, hit them dead on in the front and the only thing that had saved America was the thick seat of the co-pilot. He cursed and buckled himself in as tight as he could because he didn't know where the parachutes were and the plane was in a nose dive. He screamed all the way to the ground and he felt the impact just before everything went completely black.

_Russia_

Russia sighed happily as he watched the plane go down. After all, he did love shooting down those pesky spy planes when he saw them. This particular one had gotten a little too close to his house. Thankfully, he hadn't brought anything too excessive, only an old bazooka he had lying around the house, so he could strap it across his back as he walked through the waist deep snow to the crash. It was terribly cold, as always, so he pulled his hat down a bit and tied his scarf tighter around his neck.

Finally, Russia arrived at the crash site and sighed. The plane was in ruins. As he walked around pocketing whatever items he found that weren't broken and that he liked, he counted two bodies. The American flag on a piece of the plane told him they were Americans. He giggled like a school girl as he thought about how upset this would make that idiot, America. He started walking away when his foot hit something hard in the snow. Normally he would have just kept walking, but this something let out a weak, painful moan. Russia raised an eyebrow as he cleared away the snow and gasped, wide-eyed. Now THIS was something that wasn't broken that he liked. He put his prize on his shoulder and made the long trek back to his house.

_America_

The first thing he realized was how god awfully bad his head hurt. He cracked his eyes open and was greeted with blurry vision. He knew his glasses were gone, but he didn't really need them. He just needed to focus. After blinking a few times, he saw he was in a large king sized bed with golden sheets, a few thick furs, and four intricately carved posts. The room itself had a couple chairs, a bookshelf loaded with all sorts of books, and a stone fireplace where a fire was burning away and warming the room. One wall was nothing but floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto a currently frozen and snow covered lake surrounded by thick forest. As America assessed his situation, he became painfully aware that he was stark ass naked in a strange place he had never been before. The blankets on the bed were the only things covering him. He remembered all too well about how his plane went down, and he was incredibly confused as to how he got here in the first place. Maybe he was in heaven? No, that couldn't be it. He's a country; he can't actually die and stay dead. He can only stay in a sort of "limbo" for a few days. He sighed and rolled his head to the side with his eyes closed. What the actual fuck was going on? America opened his eyes again only to find his entire field of vision taken up by a pair of violet colored eyes.

"HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS!" America scrambled backwards and fell off the other side of the bed. Russia just giggled and poked his head over the edge.

"I had no idea you scared so easy," Russia said happily. He was smiling in that creepy way of his that didn't quite seem real.

"What the hell, dude?! What are you doing here and why were you watching me, you communist bastard?!" America yelled angrily.

"You would like me to point out all that is wrong with what you just said, da?" Russia giggled. America went to say something, but Russia cut him off sweetly.

"First, swine, you are in my bed, naked, in case you have forgotten, because I saved you after I shot down your plane. Second, I was not even in here until you made noise and I wanted to make sure you were not dying in the place where I sleep at night. It would make me very unhappy if you got blood on my nice sheets. Third, as I have told you many times, I am no longer communist," Russia explained everything just as normally as one would if they were explaining the weather.

"….communist bastard." It was all America could think to say as he blushed and covered himself with a sheet. Russia pulled America back on the bed gently. Wait, gently? This was the great and powerful Russia being gentle with the one person he supposedly hated most in the world….. That's it. America must be dead and he was just sent to a very confusing hell.

"I am sure you have not noticed yet, but you broke your arm in the crash. You also have some head trauma and you are a bit cut up," Russia seemed almost concerned as he said this. "I will take care of you, da?"

America didn't know how to respond. He would never admit this to anyone ever, but he was a little frightened of the Russian man. Most people were, after all, but this scary, psychotic country seemed to genuinely care if he got better. He decided to simply nod slowly and climb back into the bed. At that, Russia was overjoyed. America had chosen not to run away! How could he not be thrilled? The larger nation gave America a bottle of water and went back to his creepy self.

"Drink," he commanded.

"What did you do to it?" America asked flatly. There was no way this asshole was actually being nice to him.

"It is an unopened bottle of water, swine. How could I have done something to it?" Maybe it was just his imagination, but he could swear Russia had just rolled his eyes.

"I'm not a dog, you freak," America spat at him. Russia simply chuckled and threw a bag at America before saying in his heavily accented voice,

"No? I would beg to differ."

Russia smiled a sickeningly sweet smile and made no move to leave. America looked in the bag and blushed scarlet. Why in the hell would Russia want him in something like this? I mean, America knew the guy was psychotic, but this was ridiculous! That and he hated when the other nation showed him up like this. Damn, he should've just kept his mouth shut. As if this wasn't embarrassing enough, it looked like the larger nation had no intentions of giving America some privacy.

"A snowball will survive in hell before I wear this for you," America said flatly. At this, Russia went to one of the windows, stepped outside, made a snowball, and set it on the ground. A few moments of silence passed.

"Welcome to hell, da?" Russia said quietly. There was no fake sweetness in his tone this time. Only an icy expression and an almost sad tone dominated. It was only there for a second before Russia closed the window and returned to his creepy self.

"Get dressed," Russia commanded. America decided to swallow his pride and get dressed. He turned his back to Russia and put on what he had been given.

**I hope you liked it! I'm fairly certain the next chapter is where the smut will begin. ^J^ You have been warned...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters, and all ideas in the story (so far) are completely original and from my own imagination!**


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